


Adrift in Stormy Seas

by JemWithA_J



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26930944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JemWithA_J/pseuds/JemWithA_J
Summary: What happened to Archie Kennedy after he was cut adrift by Simpson in ‘The Even Chance’? The story of his struggle to survive before he was reunited with Horatio in ‘The Duchess & The Devil.”
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

The sound of waves rushing against the shore and birds tweeting above him roused Archie Kennedy from a sleep he didn’t remember falling into. Blinking into the brightness, confusion was the first thing he felt as he was sure the last thing he remembered was that it was dark. It was night-time. A night-time mission to take the Papillon. Memories were starting to rush back into Archie’s brain now. He had suffered a fit. Vague recollections of seeing Horatio standing above him, begging him to be quiet when there was no way that he could. He had hit him. Archie placed a hand to his forehead and winced, his fingers sticky with blood as he pulled them away. Looking around he could see that the dinghy he was in had found its way to a shoreline and moored there against the wet sand. They were in the Gironde, he knew that much, so this must be France. But with no compass or map to hand he was completely lost. He didn’t understand how he had come to be here, alone, moored on some French beach with the Indefatigable nowhere in sight. Panic started to rise within him as he desperately tried to figure out what he could do. The dinghy was heavy, usually manned by at least six men to row. But he had no choice. It was the only way he could get back out to sea, to somehow find the Indy or at least somewhere where the British Admiralty were present, where he knew he would be safe until he could rejoin his shipmates aboard the Indy. Surveying the area, he could see that the dinghy was moored around five metres from the water. He would have to push it to the shore before getting in and attempting to row. His body was still weak from the fit and from god knows how long without sustenance, and he was aching, but he knew he had to do this. Getting to his feet, he tried to ignore the shake in his legs and the growl of his stomach through hunger. He desperately needed to eat but he knew it was too dangerous to stay here for too long. The French were the enemy of the British. The danger he faced here was too high to risk searching the area for food. He got out of the dinghy and braced himself to push the heavy, wooden boat across the thick wet sand when he felt the cold barrel of a pistol against the back of his neck and he froze.

"Comment vous appelez-vous?"

Archie swallowed nervously as he raised his hands to his head. French was not a language he had ever studied, he only knew a little Spanish, so these words meant nothing to him.

“I don’t understand…”

“Réponds-moi maintenant ou je vais tirer!”

Hearing the click of the trigger, Archie closed his eyes, readying himself to die.

“Attendez!”

Another voice rang out, and Archie felt the barrel of the pistol leave his neck. Daring to open his eyes, he looked to his left and saw a man in the unmistakable uniform of a French Lieutenant, the plume of red, white & blue on his hat glinting in the sun. The man looked at him, trying to catch his eye, but Archie was too frightened to look at him, instead choosing to look straight ahead and out to sea. Eventually, the man spoke, his tone gentler than that of the man who had held the pistol to his neck.

“Vous êtes Anglais?”

Archie at least knew the French word for English. He nodded at the man.

“What is your name?”

He spoke in English this time, with a soft French accent, which was a small relief to Archie. Swallowing again, he turned to face him, placing his hands behind his back, grasping them together to attempt to stop the shake in them.

“K...Kennedy. Midshipman of the Britannic Majesty’s Frigate Indefatigable.”

The man nodded.

“I am Lieutenant Marceau.”

Archie nodded his acknowledgement back, waiting for him to speak again.

“The Indefatigable….” Lieutenant Marceau looked impressed, “A fine vessel. So where is it now?”

“I don’t…” Archie began, licking his lips nervously, “I don’t know Sir…”

The butt of a pistol suddenly connected with his face, sending him crashing to the ground. As he spat the blood from his mouth he looked up to see the man who had been holding the pistol to his neck, standing over him. He spat at him, glaring. He looked mad, almost unhinged. He was almost certainly a seaman. Archie could tell that by the clothes he wore and the fact he was dressed nowhere near as smartly as the Lieutenant.

“La saleté Anglaise…”

He spat at Archie again, who daren’t move from where he had collapsed to the floor. Lieutenant Marceau stood watching him, carefully.

“You are saying that they left you behind?” He enquired, “Your ship-mates. Your Captain?”

Closing his eyes, Archie tried to stop the wobble in his chin as the Lieutenant spoke the same question that had been swimming around his mind since he woke up here. Eventually, he opened his eyes and with a shaky breath gave his answer.

“It would appear so…yes.”

The French seaman scoffed.

“Zey left ‘im…” He laughed, his English broken and heavily accented. “E eez worthless. We should just shoot ‘im now. Finish zee job zey started…”

He trained his pistol on Archie once more. Archie wanted to fight back, but fear and hunger were stopping him. Part of him wondered if it would be better to just die here, right now. It was obvious that nobody was looking for him. The Indy was long gone. And he didn’t know what would await him in a French prison. The Lieutenant seemed kindly enough, but the rest of the group looked at him as if they would murder him in his sleep. He watched as Lieutenant Marceau walked over to the other man, placing a hand on the pistol, forcing it downwards.

“No Éric…” He said, strongly, “We do not murder gentleman of the Navy, even if they are British.”

Éric huffed, walking away as the Lieutenant looked at Archie again.

“I will accept your surrender and find you suitable lodgings in one of our prisons to see out the rest of the war. What do you say Mr. Kennedy?”

Archie looked up at him. He saw that he now had little or not choice in the matter. Getting to his feet as the French sailors watched him warily, he stood face to face with Lieutenant Marceau and nodded.

“You have my surrender, Sir…”

Éric grinned, before reaching into a trunk in the back of a horse driven cart and bringing out the heavy iron cuffs that Archie knew so well from seeing the ones below deck on the Indy, ready for any prisoner of war they may acquire. The flutter of panic started inside of Archie once more, and frustratingly the sting of tears, though he suspected that was more through hunger & exhaustion than fear of the irons. As Éric walked towards him with them, Marceau stood in front of him.

“Non…”

He shook his head at Éric before turning back towards Archie.

“I am sure I have your word that you will not try to escape so there are no need for the irons. Am I correct?”

Archie nodded, too weak to respond verbally. Marceau smiled as he climbed up onto the front of the cart.

“Good. You will walk.”

The journey to wherever he was to be imprisoned seemed to take forever. The sun was beating down on Archie’s head and he desperately wanted to take off his jacket but he knew that protocol forbade it. Lack of food and water was also taking its toll and the mutterings in French of the sailors both on the cart and walking around him were making him edgy with nerves. He occasionally stole a look at them, only to see them glaring or scoffing to their shipmates. Fatigue was causing his legs to feel heavy and walking steady was becoming increasingly more difficult. A dip in the dusty road caught him unaware, sending him crashing to the floor the the sound of raucous laughter from the French sailors. Dusting himself off he staggered to his feet again, unwilling to let them see how weak he actually felt.

“Assez!”

Lieutenant Marceau’s voice called out angrily and the laughter around him started to die off slowly. The Lieutenant looked at the young British Naval Officer carefully. He didn’t look well, and there was still a bit of a journey to go before they reached the prison.

“Are you hungry?”

He asked and Archie, after snatching another quick look at the smirking faces of the sailors, nodded his head. Looking over his shoulder, Marceau called out to one of the seamen.

“Antoine, passe-moi du pain et une fiole d'eau.”

Throwing a look at Archie, Antoine did as his commanding officer instructed, retrieving a small loaf of bread and a flask of water from the cart and passing it to Marceau who in turn handed it to Archie. He tore at the bread with his hands, shoving chunks into his mouth before washing it down with the water. The bread was stale but after god knows how many days without food it was the best thing Archie had tasted. He was so hungry that he had forgotten his manners in the hurry to get the food into him. Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket he looked up at Marceau.

“Thank you…”

The Lieutenant nodded in acknowledgement.

“There is still a little way to go…” he said, observing Archie, “Are you sure you are fit enough to continue?”

Archie looked at him. The food and water had given him back a little energy, and he was sure that the Lieutenant’s question was not going to be answered by him offering a place on the cart to ride the rest of the way. So if it were a choice between them camping out in the middle of nowhere, where he would be surrounded by bloodthirsty frogs who wouldn’t let him get a minutes sleep, or struggling onwards to the prison, where he would at least have a cell with a bed away from them, he knew what he preferred.

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

Nodding once more at the young man, Marceau called for the party to walk on. Archie kept speed with them, taking slower bites of bread and smaller sips of water as he went, letting the energy from it keep him going until finally, in the distance, he saw the high walls of what could only be a prison. Swallowing down the fear that had never truly left him, he followed the group up to the gates where they were met by a guard. Marceau got down from the cart, gesturing for Archie to follow. He explained to the guard who he was and who Archie was and asked if there was a cell ready. A brief nod of the guard’s head told them that it was and he took his keys to unlock the gate. Turning to Archie, Lieutenant Marceau spoke.

“For now it is goodbye, Mr. Kennedy. But I shall be back in time, to make sure that things are as they should be.”

He inclined his head, respectfully towards Archie, who returned the gesture.

“Thank you…” Archie replied, and he meant it, “For your kindness.”

The Lieutenant smiled as he walked away and the guard gestured for Archie to follow him on through the gates, which he then shut with a crash behind him, making him jump, despite himself. The guard led him down a long corridor of metal gates until finally he stopped outside a small cell which he opened before pushing Archie inside. As the door slammed behind him and the key turned in the lock, Archie felt alone for the first time in a long time. He hadn’t been alone since Horatio had come aboard the Justinian. The two of them had grown as close as brothers over the past few months and now without him by his side, he felt lost. The cell was a small, bare, white stone room which housed a bed and little else. Early evening light creeped through the small barred window through which Archie could see a small courtyard, with guards stationed at each corner. Tomorrow he would work out how he could escape from here. He walked over to the bed, sitting down heavily on it, before pulling up his legs and wrapping himself in the thin blanket that lay atop of it. Tomorrow he would figure it out. But right now he must sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

In the two weeks he had spent in prison, Archie had already attempted escape three times with no success. The first one was a failure from the start. He’d attempted to slip his guard on his morning walk from his cell to the courtyard where the prisoners were permitted to eat and exercise. But he had not done enough research. He managed to get through one open gate, only to be confronted with another, much higher gate, guarded by two officers who took little time to discipline him there and then in front of the other prisoners. He zoned out during the beating. It’s the only way he had learnt to survive them aboard ship, of which there had been many occasions when Simpson needed to let out his frustrations publicly as opposed to in private.

After that pathetic attempt, he tried to think like Horatio. What he would do in this situation. He’d plan. He knew that for certain. He’d take his time, be methodical. Work out the best time to attempt escape. And he tried. He listened and he learnt about the guards and their comings and goings, the setup and layout of the prison. But it didn’t work. Each attempt got him further and further away from his goal. He was not a leader like Horatio, he thought sadly. He needed a leader to follow, to be intelligent enough to work out how to escape without being caught. All he had earned himself were daily beatings and reduced rations, which only served to make his body tired and his brain more fuzzy. He still had the will to escape, but the fire inside of him was dying with every kick he took.

The scraping of a chair across the ground drew Archie from his thoughts and into the present. He was sitting in the courtyard, trying to make his tiny ration of bread for breakfast last as long as he could. His face stung from the cuts that had been made upon it by the guards and his bruised body ached every time he moved. Looking over he could see that one of his fellow prisoners had come to join him at his table. This was unheard of since he arrived. He was the only British prisoner and the only prisoner of war. The others here were all French, imprisoned for crimes ranging from petty theft to murder. The man sitting next to him was older, in his sixties, with close shorn black hair and the beginnings of a beard. Archie didn’t know his name or what he was here for. He kept himself to himself, the language barrier one obvious reason for this. The man held his bowl of porridge in one hand. He looked at Archie before sliding it across the table to him.

“Here…”

He gestures to the bowl which was almost full. Archie looked from it then back over to him, shaking his head.

“No, thank you…”

The man laughed.

“Don’t try telling me that you aren’t hungry.” He said in a lilting French accent, “I’ve been watching you tear that bread into tiny pieces for the last half an hour. Here, take it. I’m not hungry and I’d rather it didn’t go to waste.”

Archie looked at him nervously. The grumble of his stomach told him that he could finish off that full bowl no question. Yet he hesitated, looking over at the guards who stood just outside of the gates.

“I can’t…” he said, eventually, his eyes flicking between the guards and the prisoner, “I’m not allowed. If they see…”

The man looked over to where Archie kept glancing and laughed again.

“They are far too busy making bets and playing silly games to notice you eating. Besides, I’m sure you could finish that off before they even looked up from their first game. Go on…”

Looking over at the guards again, Archie could see that he was right. They were paying no attention to him or any of the others. They were too busy throwing dice into the dirt and cheering as they passed their winnings between them. Archie looked at the bowl again. He needed the sustenance. His stomach ached from hunger as much as his body did from the beatings. He grabbed hold of the spoon and was about to dip it in the bowl when suddenly he stopped himself. The man looked at Archie’s concerned expression and realised.

“You think I’ve poisoned it.” He said, a laugh escaping his lips again, “Where on earth do you think I would find poison around here? And why would I choose to poison you?”

He grabbed the spoon from Archie’s hand and dug it into the bowl, taking a spoonful of porridge and placing it in his mouth, chewing before swallowing.

“Now will you eat?”

He said, holding the spoon back to Archie. This time there was no hesitation. He grabbed the spoon and started shovelling it into his mouth as fast as he could without choking himself. It was the same, bland, tasteless stuff they were given every day, but the energy he got from it revived his weary bones and stopped his head from spinning. After practically scraping the bowl clean he washed it down with a mouthful of water before looking over at the man once more.

“Why?” Archie asked, wiping his mouth, “Why are you being so kind to me?”

The man smiled softly.

“My Father always taught me to be kind to everyone, but especially to those who looked in need of it. And you look like you do.”

Archie looked at him and then down at the table, staring intently at the spoon as he turned it over in his hands. He never wanted to be pitied. Yet people always pitied him. Maybe it was because he was pathetic enough to find himself marooned on some French beach and imprisoned after having a fit at sea, or because he sat here alone, bruised and beaten after failing to escape.

“Are you still looking to escape?”

His question took Archie by surprise. He looked up at him, expecting to see him laughing, but his face was deadly serious. Archie studied him for a few moments before nodding.

“I can’t stay here…” he whispered, “I won’t surviv…”

He choked up at the last word, closing his eyes and licking his lip. He knew that Simpson would be back there on the Indy. He knew that the fits that had seemingly left him since he had escaped his clutches would no doubt return. But Horatio was there too. And he knew that Horatio would protect him from Simpson, just as he had done right before the night-time raid which found him here. Here he was alone, he had no-one. And the isolation would end up driving him mad, he could feel it.

“I will help you escape…”

Archie looked up at the man as he spoke.

“What?”

“I will help you. But you must listen to me carefully and follow what I say. The window of time we have is limited…”

“Why are you doing this?” Archie said, shaking his head, “Why would you want to help me like this?”

The man sighed, sadly.

“My Son would have been your age. He died in childhood. If he were still here, I wouldn’t want to see him sat behind these bars with old men like me. I would want to see him out in the world, living his life. I’ve heard the guards talking. I know your story. And I know that you don’t deserve to be in here. So please. Take the help I am offering. I cannot guarantee it will work, but it is the best chance you have…”

Still not sure that he could believe what was happening, Archie eventually spoke.

“Tell me.”

“In a few minutes, the guards will come through the gate to start escorting us back to our cells…” he began, “The reason I left it until now to speak to you is because I was waiting for these particular guards to be on duty. They are lazy. I know for a fact that they will have left all of the gates open to allow them easy passage back after they have dealt with us. I will get their attention. As soon as I do, you need to run and not look back…”

“I don’t want to get you into trouble…”

Archie said in concern as the man chuckled lightly.

“They haven't even noticed us sitting together.” he says, shaking his head, “As far as they are aware, I haven’t spoken with you. And they would never suspect any of us of helping a British sailor escape.”

He got up from his seat and began walking back towards the middle of the courtyard.

“Bon chance Mr. Kennedy. May God be with you…”

The rattling of keys in the gate brought Archie’s attention over to the guards who had just started to file in. Then suddenly, he heard a loud groan from the courtyard and turned to see the man falling to the ground, clutching his chest. As the guards ran over to him, he took off, not looking back, running as fast as his broken body could carry him, thankful for the extra energy his gifted breakfast had given him. Amazingly, the man was right, the gate which had foiled him last time was wide open, as was the one after that. Archie couldn’t help but grin widely as he ran through them untroubled, finally coming to the last one. His heart sunk a little as he saw that this one was still firmly shut. But the gate was lower than the others. He could climb it. He had to. There was no other way. He grasped hold of the metal bars tightly, finding his footing as best he could on the ridges, remembering the best way to climb from all his time spent on the rigging on the ships. He could see the sea’s edge in the distance and it made him long for life back on the open water. He was so close he could almost taste the salty sea air and his eyes stung with joyful tears. One more rung and he would be over. But the next thing he felt was sharp pain as something was whacked against his head and he began to fall to the ground, blackness overcoming him as he hit the earth with a thump.


	3. Chapter 3

Archie woke to the sound of waves crashing and the slight swaying motion underfoot that he knew so well from his life at sea. Looking around he saw the unmistakable wooden cabin of a ship and he could smell the sea air, sharp, fresh and salty. He’d done it. The smile started to grow on his face as he realised. God knows how but somehow he had managed to get away from that place and back to sea. But this wasn’t the Indy. He was certain of that. And he didn’t understand how he had managed it when the last he remembered he hadn’t even made it over the gate. But none of that mattered now. He was back at sea. He wondered if Horatio was aboard the ship; if maybe this were his ship. After all, Captain Pellew was fond of him and Archie could definitely see him being given the chance of taking charge of his own vessel eventually. He didn’t want to lie down any longer. He wanted to be up on deck, to feel the wind on his face, to get back to normality. But as he tried to get up, the jangle of chains sent a bolt of cold, hard fear into his heart.

“No…”

He whispered to himself as he saw the heavy irons clamped tightly around his wrists. Turning his head he finally saw the locked iron gate that separated him from the rest of the ship.

“No, no, no, no, no!”

He could have cried but he didn’t have the energy. He was so close. And now he was further away than ever before. The sound of a key in the lock made Archie jump and as he looked across at the cell door once more he saw Lieutenant Marceau, the French Officer who found him on the beach and transported him to that French hellhole. His face betrayed little of what he was thinking as he walked in, a guard crashing the door closed behind him. Taking a seat next to Archie’s bed he handed him a flask of water. The heaviness of the irons made him clumsy but he managed to drink some, taking away the dryness in his throat as he looked over at Marceau.

“Why, Mr. Kennedy?”

The Frenchman asked, a hint of sadness to his voice. Archie didn’t reply, instead choosing to look away.

“The prison I took you to. It wasn’t such a bad place. There are far worse places…”

His voice was dark, and something about it made Archie feel uneasy. He turned back towards him.

“There will be people looking for me.” He said, as strongly as he could muster, “My Captain. My shipmates. I am a Midshipman aboard the Indefatigable. It is my duty to return to my ship and my post…”

“There will be nobody looking for you, boy.” Lieutenant Marceau replied, his voice matter of fact but with the sadness still lingering, “They will have assumed you lost at sea. They would and could not spend time looking for one Midshipman when there is a war on. You should have just stayed at the prison. You had food and a bed. And once the war was over you could have attempted to have found your shipmates if they too had survived.”

The emptiness in Archie’s heart was growing with every word Marceau spoke. Yet he had to keep fighting. Had to keep trying. Because if not he knew he would go mad.

“Where are they taking me?” 

He asked, sitting up, trying to make himself appear braver than he felt on the inside. Lieutenant Marceau frowned, looking down at the ground.

“Spain.” 

Archie felt his heart sink as the words left Marceau’s mouth. He thought France was far enough away from England and any help from the Admiralty. Spain was even further.

“Archie…”

Lieutenant Marceau used his name for the first time, causing Archie to look over at him.

“This prison. It is far worse than our French prisons. Don Massaredo is not afraid to be cruel. He is not afraid to teach lessons to those who go against him. Please. Just sit out the rest of the war there. And then you will have the chance to find your shipmates and return to your post…”

“I have a duty.” Archie replied, strongly, “I am not afraid of cruelty. I have suffered enough. I will suffer more if it means I will one day escape this place…”

“Listen to me!”

The Lieutenant’s voice was harsh with concern, taking Archie by surprise.

“He will break you given half the chance. Don’t give him the chance. Just do as he says and you will be ok.”

Archie could feel the fear rising inside of him, though he tried to push it away. The concern in Marceau’s voice made him wonder just what sort of man this Don Massaredo was and what kind of prison he oversaw. But he was used to being bullied by men who saw themselves as Gods. And if he could survive what Simpson had put him through then he could survive what this man had in store as well. Because the one thing he knew he couldn’t survive was being alone and lost out here for much longer.


	4. Chapter 4

“They told me that you are something of an escape artist…”

Don Massaredo looked down at Archie who was on his knees in the dirt, being held there by two guards who wrenched his head back by his hair so he could do nothing but look up at the Don. He meant what he said to Lieutenant Marceau on his journey here. He wouldn’t stop trying to escape until he managed it. And he did try. The moment he arrived at this prison, he attempted escape. But this wasn’t like the French prison. This was a prison made for prisoners of war. With guards who were sharp and more than capable of stopping an escape attempt before it started. He realised that now. As they dragged him to where he now knelt, awaiting his punishment.

“The French were too soft on you. I can see this now. A beating. Withholding food…” Don Massaredo shrugged. “Nothing that would indefinitely put off a young, fit officer of the British Navy from attempting to get back to his ship…”

Archie swallowed nervously as he looked up at Don Massaredo. He had learnt to withstand beatings. He had taken enough of them over the years. And he had trained himself to survive on little or no food since being in prison. But something in the Don’s eye told Archie that he had something more imaginative in store for him. And the unknown frightened him because he couldn’t prepare.

“I believe you must be cruel to be kind.” Don Massaredo spoke again, his voice soft, yet darkness lurked underneath it, “You must break a man’s spirit in order for him to truly submit…”

With a nod of the Don’s head the two guards wrenched Archie up from the ground, dragging him from the gate which he had reached just before capture across the courtyard.

“Your current lodgings offer too much space. Too much scope for planning an escape. You need somewhere that offers little chance to think or plan or watch from...” The Don said as he walked alongside Archie who was desperately trying to find the ground under his feet as he was dragged along by the guards, “And I have just the place…”

The guards threw Archie to the ground and he groaned as his body hit something hard and metal, winding him. Looking down, Archie could see that he was lying atop of a metal grating which housed the entrance to a hole in the earth which didn’t look big enough to fit a pig in. Realising what was about to happen, the panic began to rise in Archie’s chest, his heart thumping wildly, a cold sweat appearing on his brow. He stumbled back from it, one of the guards grabbing his arms to hold him steady as the other took a key to unlock the grate, the metal squealing as he lifted it. Looking up in desperation at Don Massaredo, Archie shook his head.

“No...please. I...I won’t try to escape any more...y...you have my word!”

The Don shook his head.

“I do not believe you…”

The other guard appeared back at Archie’s side and proceeded to drag him forward towards the hole, ignoring his frightened and pained screams of surrender. They were stronger, much stronger than him, and were able to lift him from the ground as if he weighed little more than a feather. Archie fought against them with as much strength as he could muster but it was hopeless. They forced him down into the hole, closing the heavy metal grate with a crash above him. With the grate closed, the space was too small for him to stand, and not wide enough for him to lie down either. He could only crouch, his legs already aching from the strain of the unnatural position he found himself in.

“I will break you, Mr. Kennedy.”

Don Massaredo’s voice echoed from above.

“And once I have you will never think to try and escape again.”

****

Archie had tried counting the days down there, using the sunrise and sunsets as a guide. A coping mechanism. But he lost count at fourteen. The days were long and had started to blur into one another the longer he spent down there. He had lost the feeling in his legs days ago; everytime he tried to shift into a more comfortable position he was met with excruciating shooting pain through them which made him want to cry out, except he couldn’t, having worn his voice hoarse in the first few days, pleading to anyone that would listen that he wouldn’t try to escape again. It had been futile, of course. Don Massaredo was a man of his word. And he wanted Archie to know exactly what kind of man he was.

The weather changed dramatically between rain showers and thunderstorms, which left him soaked to the bone and shivering as the long nights pulled in, and days of blistering sunshine which made his lips dry and the claustrophobic space he was confined to feel like an oven. His little knowledge of Spanish became more of a curse than a blessing as he heard the guards above him talking in mocking voices about the “English pig” and how Don Massaredo planned to keep him down there for months, not days. A few of the guards were kindly and would carefully hand him down food and water with sympathetic glances. Others saw it as a game, throwing bread at him like he were a circus attraction and pouring water through the bars of the grate in a slow trickle, forcing him to try and catch the drops as they fell into laughter above him.

But worse than the cruelty of the guards or the harshness of the weather was the solitude he found himself in, minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day. With only the scurrying rats at his feet and his own thoughts for company. Thoughts that kept on running through his mind. Where was the Indy now? Why did he end up marooned on some French beach with nobody to help him? Did they think him dead? Lost at sea? Had they mourned him and moved on, his presence now a distant memory in their heads? He thought of Horatio. Did he think him dead too? If the tables were turned and it were Horatio here and him still aboard the Indy, would he let his friend go so easily? Without question or attempt at finding him? He would have done anything to find out what had happened. No doubt. So maybe Horatio was not the man he believed he was. The man he hero worshipped. The man he loved like a Brother.

“Hey. Englishman…”

The harsh voices of the guards above him called down. The tears had begun to fall down Archie’s cheeks but he didn’t brush them away, nor did he look up at the guards above.

“Hey!” The voice was angrier now, “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, English pig…”

Finally brushing the tears from his face, Archie looked up, blinking into the bright sunlight which trickled through the bars. One of the Spanish guards stood grinning at him, a couple of his friends to either side.

“That’s better. You hungry, boy?”

Archie’s stomach growled through lack of food, but he was too tired to play their games. He shook his head. The guard frowned.

“Really? That’s a shame. Because I’ve got a treat for you. Freshly baked bread. Not that stale stuff they’ve been giving you for days. Proper, fresh bread still warm from the kiln…”

The smell of it wafted down and Archie’s mouth salivated at it. He closed his eyes and licked his lip, forcing himself to ignore it.

“It’s not a trick.” 

The guard said, his voice genuine. 

“Here, take it…”

He crouched down at the grate, placing his hand through the bars, the bread tantalisingly close to Archie. He looked up at the guard. He kept gesturing to the bread, gesturing to Archie to take it. The smell was stronger now. It smelt of warmth and comfort and home. Archie couldn’t resist it anymore. But as he held out his hand to take it, the guard smirked, throwing it down out of Archie’s reach where the rats squeaked joyfully as they ran to claim their prize. As the guards’ raucous laughter rang out above him, Archie couldn’t hold it in any longer. His tears flowed out of him in gut wrenching sobs, his body shaking as he pulled his knees into his chest, burying his head in his arms, blocking out the cruel world he found himself a prisoner of. He couldn’t bear it any longer. He didn’t want to be here anymore. He didn’t want to be anywhere.

“Enough!”

Don Massaredo’s voice rang out and the guards scrambled to their feet. He instructed a couple of them to open the grate and release the prisoner. They pulled Archie upwards by his arms, keeping hold of him as the Don walked over to stand in front of him.

“Do I have your surrender, Mr. Kennedy?”

Archie wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t looking at anyone. He was looking up at the sky, wishing he could be up there with the angels, away from this hell on Earth. Don Massaredo looked at him in concern. He had used this method of discipline a number of times before to great effect. Yet this time it was different. This man looked more than broken. And the Don wondered if he had for once in his life made an error of judgement. If he had been too harsh. Had taken it too far.

“Mr. Kennedy…”

He tried again, but Archie barely heard him. Don Massaredo sighed.

“You may return to your cell. I hope this has taught you a valuable lesson, Mr. Kennedy. That you will now respect authority and know your place.”

The Don nodded and the guards let go of Archie’s arms to allow him to walk back to his cell. But his legs were too weak to carry him. He hit the ground with a thump, sending the dust of the clay earth below him up into the air like smoke. He couldn’t gather the energy to even try to get up. He wanted them to just leave him there. Don Massaredo swallowed down the guilt in his throat. Instructing two guards to pick Archie up, they dragged him from the courtyard and back to his cell, throwing him down onto the bed before locking the door. Archie took hold of the thin blanket of his bed and wrapped himself in it, throwing it over his head, blocking out the world as he sobbed himself to sleep.


End file.
